Jokes About Jewish Athletes Got to Me. Then My Son Proved Them Wrong.

A little book called “Jokes for the John” lived in the bathroom of my childhood home. My dad, a loud Jewish guy from Brooklyn, loved its often distasteful content.  

I skimmed the book often, though most of the humor went over my head. But one joke about athletes stayed with me. As a mediocre softball player desperate to be a starter, it resonated. The joke was titled “Shortest Books Ever Written,” followed by a list that included “Jewish Sports Heroes.” 

I learned early on that Jewish people are supposedly not great athletes.

There was, of course, one exception. My dad worshipped Dodgers’ pitcher Sandy Koufax. “Did you know he was Jewish?” he’d ask about the superstar nicknamed “The Left Arm of God.” 

“Yes, Dad, you tell me all the time.” At least we had one, I figured.

Forty years later, I have four kids of my own, including three sons who worship basketball. Each had a ball in his hands as soon as he could grip and each has expressed an interest in playing in the NBA, as many young boys do. When we moved from NYC to a fairly Jewish suburb of New Jersey while my firstborns were toddlers, our journey as sports parents began. And in the 16 years I’ve spent watching them play basketball, I heard one thing consistently.

Just let them have fun. Nobody’s going to the NBA.

Sitting on gym bleachers as the years unfolded, I heard it from other parents, spectators, even coaches. Each time a mom clutched their head in anguish after an airball or a dad cried out about an awful call, someone would say it, or at least think it. What’s the difference? Nobody’s going pro. And then people would laugh.

I laughed too, even though I wasn’t sure I agreed. I thought my kids were great, especially A — but I wasn’t about to be the delusional parent who pumps their kid full of false confidence and creates an adult who can’t handle rejection. And if everyone else believed their Jewish sons’ sports careers ended with school, why shouldn’t I? 

But even after repeating to my son, “Baby, it’s just a game,” A pushed harder, doing things I couldn’t fathom: 5 a.m. workouts before school, training after practice, studying until 3 a.m. so he could spend hours shooting free throws. I told him to sleep, to relax and have fun. “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” I said. My inner voice reminded me about Jewish athletes, and I wanted to protect him from heartbreak.

What I didn’t ask myself then was who exactly I was trying to protect. It wasn’t the 17-year-old who believed in his abilities; it was his mother who believed an antisemitic stereotype since childhood.

Now, it’s A’s junior year, and he’s been on every best-player list in the state: highest scorer, most assists, top ranked juniors. He’s been named Breakout Player of the Year by a state sports publication and is talking to Division 1 schools. I know that’s not his inevitable ascent to being a pro, but who am I to say he’s not on his way?

After one of his recent games, a group of teenagers stopped me outside. “You’re A’s mom, right?” one asked. I said yes, shaking with pride. “He’s awesome,” another said. “He’ll be in the NBA one day.” I wanted to challenge it, but I stopped myself. “I think so, too,” I told them instead.

At the risk of sounding delusional, I’m done doubting my kids — not just A, but all of them. Wanna be the first Jewish President? A rock star? A Michelin-starred chef? Get it kiddo! We live in a world that roots against us — no matter our religion — and tells us what we can’t do until we’re “lucky” enough to prove otherwise. 

Will A make it to the NBA? Maybe. But I’ll be the Jewish mother who believes he can, and who lets him believe he can, too. And maybe one day, he’ll earn a spot beside Sandy Koufax (and actually, a long list of star Jewish athletes) in that book of sports heroes.